


Make Something

by Liquid_Lyrium



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crowley has Trauma from the Fall (Good Omens), First Meetings, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Meet-Cute, Other, Scene: Garden of Eden (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23135404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liquid_Lyrium/pseuds/Liquid_Lyrium
Summary: Make something.Crawley bites his lip, hunches over the familiar motions of his hands.Make something.He remembers the process. He knows how to do this. "C'mon." His hands shake, trying to force a connection to a power that won't come.Make something.He moves his hands just as he used to. Shapes the same paths that used to condense gravity and atomic material. It feels like the source of it is still there. A phantom limb.Make something.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 55
Kudos: 341





	Make Something

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank ya'll at the gomens party house server for being so supportive and letting me debut this! I probably should have given it some preamble OOPS! But ya'll are so lovely!!
> 
> Also 0 thanks to tumblr who ate my original draft of this.

_Make something._

Crawley bites his lip, hunches over the familiar motions of his hands.

_Make something._

He remembers the process. He _knows_ how to do this. “C'mon.” His hands shake, trying to force a connection to a power that won’t come.

_Make something._

He moves his hands just as he used to. Shapes the same paths that used to condense gravity and atomic material. It feels like the source of it is still _there._ A phantom limb.

_Make something._

His fingers start to cramp. It’s like his palms are full of microscopic drains, each one blocked and dammed up. There’s nowhere for his desire to _go._ It has to be that. Has to be. It can’t possibly be the other way round. It can’t just be _gone._

_Make something!_

“C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!” A frustrated sound builds in the back of his throat. Something burns at his eyes that isn’t layers of hydrogen gas under great heat and pressure. His arms shake all the way to his shoulders, into his back, tense and aching. His mouth opens and he lets out a wordless, furious noise from the bottom of whatever is left of his soul.

_Make something!!!_

He collapses onto his belly all at once, tired and shaking all over. There’s an ache that runs along a gossamer thread from his spine to the tips of his fingers. Something hot and close to human. Not the heat of hydrogen fusing protons together to form deuterium and helium. Not the familiar burn of neutrinos and photons. He wishes it had gone wrong instead. An explosion or implosion with a crater left behind. _Something._

Instead there’s nothing.

He breathes deep and trembles all over. He isn’t crying and whatever he feels goes far beyond grief, beyond rage. Beyond words, beyond _The_ Word. He trembles himself apart, until there’s nothing but the black and red core of him. An open wound wrapped in paper thin scales because he can’t _make_ armor, can’t make anything of himself. He can only tear his atoms apart and shuffle them like a cheap deck of cards at a poker table with a smiling dealer who won’t explain the rules.

Crawley soaks in the photons and neutrinos that have made their way through the protective layers of the atmosphere. Mops up the cosmic rays not reflected or absorbed by the magnetosphere like a cheap napkin at a bar. They feel wrong on the outside of his skin.

_Alright then. You’ll be sorry. If you won’t let me make something, I’ll make trouble._

He slithers through the garden. He tears apart dirt and plants, shuffles them up and leaves a mess behind. Touches the tree that screams _‘Don’t Touch!’_ Puts an idea in Eve’s head as quickly as it enters his. The motions for this aren’t familiar. There’s no formula, no blueprints, no plan. Just rules he doesn’t understand. He’s not sure if he’s made trouble, if he’s made anything at all.

The empty garden seems like nothing.

That’s when he spies the angel. _Ah. Here we are_. Crawley slithers up the wall. This is a sure thing, a safe bet. He can make an enemy today, if nothing else.

_Make trouble._

He rips his atoms apart. Shuffles them back together and he still feels like an open wound as he stretches his wings. Prodding an angel and prodding a sore aren’t that dissimilar. Even if he doesn’t understand the rules or know The Plan he can insult it. That was enough the first time. Should be enough now. Only…

Speaking with the Guardian of the Eastern Gate doesn’t feel like making an enemy.

_Make trouble._

_Make something._

He doesn’t point out there is no Eastern Gate. Crawley wonders if he should have studied the rules harder. Wonders if he organized a jailbreak instead of an eviction. And then the fucking warden lets it slip that he gave away the key.

“You _what?”_

“I gave it away!”

He barely hears the rest of what the angel says, but he _knows._ He knows deep in his bones something is _wrong_ here. It’s upside down and inside out. Like cosmic rays and subatomic particles on the outside of his skin. So he gives up on making trouble and making an enemy just for a moment, because maybe he can’t make a single blessed thing anymore, so why bother trying? Might as well be honest.

“Be funny if we both got it wrong eh? If I did the good thing and you did the bad one?”

And just like that, just for a moment, a smile splits across the angel’s face and he _laughs_ at the absurd theatre of the universe they’re both stuck in. Time stops and Crawley feels his atoms rip apart and shuffle back together, feeling less like an open wound.

_Oh. Look at that. I made something._

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Make Something](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23819497) by [Liquid_Lyrium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liquid_Lyrium/pseuds/Liquid_Lyrium)
  * A [Restricted Work] by [TheLordOfLaMancha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLordOfLaMancha/pseuds/TheLordOfLaMancha) Log in to view. 




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